He adjusted his glasses, and Meredith noticed his hands. Large, well-formed, long-fingered hands, browned by the sun. Hands that had massaged hers only moments ago. They looked strong and capable and manly in a way that stirred her in an odd, unfamiliar manner.
“Honor dictates I marry-and I need to do so before Father succumbs,” he said, his voice dragging her gaze back to his. “So you see, as far as I’m concerned, whomever you chose, diamond or not, would not much matter. I’m not necessarily particular about the bride, so long as she is not overly off-putting-in which case, Lady Sarah is acceptable.”
Being a practical person herself, Meredith couldn’t find fault with his logic. Still, it irked that he appeared less than bowled over by her coup of snaring the much-sought-after Lady Sarah for him.
“What if you are unable to undo this curse of yours, Lord Greybourne?”
“Failure is simply not an option I will consider, Miss Chilton-Grizdale.”
Since she wished to postpone thinking about the dreadful ramifications should he fail, she asked, “How long do you estimate it will take you to search through your crates?”
He frowned and considered. “With help, perhaps a fortnight.”
The wheels in her head whirred. “That should give us ample time to come up with a contingency plan.”
“And what sort of plan do you suggest, Miss Chilton-Grizedale? Believe me, I am open to suggestions. But I fail to see any, as the facts are quite irrefutable: If I do not break the curse, I cannot marry. And I must marry. However, with this curse hanging about my neck, I would risk the life of any woman I married-something I am not willing to do. And I cannot imagine any woman being willing to do so.”
Unfortunately, Meredith was hard-pressed to immediately name anyone who would want to marry even the heir to an earldom, only to risk expiring two days later. “But surely-”
“Tell me, Miss Chilton-Grizedale, would you be willing to take such a risk?” He stepped closer to her, and suddenly the room seemed to shrink significantly. “Would you want to risk losing your life by becoming my bride?”
Meredith fought the urge to back up, to fan herself to relieve the heat creeping up her neck. Instead she lifted her chin and faced him squarely. “Naturally I would not wish to die two days after my wedding, if I were to believe in such things as curses. Which, in spite of your compelling arguments, I am still inclined to regard as a series of unfortunate coincidences. However, the point is moot, my lord, as I have no desire to ever marry.”
Surprise flickered behind his spectacles. “That places you in a category of females that I believe you might be in all by yourself.”
“I have never objected to solitude.” She tilted her head and studied him for several seconds, then asked, “Do you normally place people into ‘categories’?”
“I’m afraid so. Almost instantaneously. People, objects, most everything. Always have. A trait quite common among scientists.”
“Actually, I tend to do the same thing, yet I am not a scientist.”
“Interesting. Tell me, Miss Chilton-Grizedale, what category have you placed me in?”
Without even thinking, she blurted out, “The ‘not what I expected’ category.”
The instant the words passed her lips, mortification suffused her. Heavens, she hoped he wouldn’t ask what she meant, for she couldn’t very well tell him that she’d been expecting an older version of the pudgy, toady youth in the painting, and he was so very much… not that.
He regarded her with an intensity that filled her with the urge to fidget. “That is very interesting, Miss Chilton-Grizedale, for that is the precise category I placed you in.”
Feeling uncharacteristically unnerved by his regard, Meredith stepped away from him and adopted her most brisk tone. “Now that we are all categorized, let us get back to our present dilemma.” Her brain raced, trying to cast the situation in the best light. “Today is the first of the month. I believe the best plan is to reschedule the wedding for, let us say, the twenty-second. That should give you more than enough time to search your crates.” And give me ample time to polish you into more marriageable material so no one will doubt what a brilliant match I’ve made. “We’ll plan something small and private this time, in your father’s drawing room, perhaps.” In her mind’s eye she envisioned the placement of the flowers, and the complimentary, effusive announcement in The Times the following day, praising her skills, reestablishing her reputation. “We’ve only to convince Lady Sarah that this is the best course. Do you think you can uncurse yourself by then?”
“That is certainly my intention.”
A tiny flicker of hope coughed to life in Meredith’s breast. Yes, perhaps this could possibly be salvaged. Of course, the situation was a debacle. However, it was not a complete and total debacle. She clung to that thought like a lifeline, lest she crumble into a heap. Damn it all, this was so unfair! She’d worked so hard. Had sacrificed so much to finally earn the respect she’d so desperately wanted. She couldn’t lose it… not again. Yet the thought of having to go through it all again… the lying and cheating and stealing. She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. No. It couldn’t come to that. He’d cure his curse and all would be well. It had to be.
A knock sounded at the door, and Lord Greybourne called, “Come in.”
Lord Hedington marched into the room, looking as if he were a volcano on the verge of erupting.
“You advised the guests?” Lord Greybourne asked.
“Yes. I told them Sarah had fallen ill, but gossip about one or the other of you crying off is already rampant. No doubt this damnable story will make the front page of The Times. ”
Meredith cleared her throat. “Lord Greybourne and I were just discussing how best to salvage this situation, your grace. He is hopeful of finding the missing piece of the stone, and thereby being able to reverse the curse. Based on that, I shall reschedule the wedding to take place on the twenty-second. I’ll send the announcement to The Times immediately to squelch any gossip.”
Lord Hedington’s gaze bounced between them, then his head jerked in a nod. “Very well. But I expect to be assured that no harm will come to my daughter. If I am not confident of her safety, there will be no wedding, scandal be damned. And now I plan to return home and retrieve this note Sarah claims to have left me.” Turning on his heel, he quit the room.
Meredith looked at Lord Greybourne. “I offer you my assistance, my lord, in searching for the stone.”
“Thank you. I don’t suppose by any chance you are a farmer, Miss Chilton-Grizedale?”
Good Lord, the man was daft. “A farmer? Certainly not. Why do you ask?”
“Because I fear this will very much be like looking for a needle amongst the haystacks.”
Narrowed eyes assessed the collection of Egyptian artifacts resting on red velvet behind the glass display case in the British Museum. How fitting that the artifacts should lie upon such a color-the shade of blood. Blood that had already been shed. And blood that would soon be shed.
Your blood, Greybourne. You shall suffer for the pain you’ve caused. Soon.
Very soon.
Three
Meredith walked slowly up the walkway leading to her modest house on Hadlow Street. While the area was far from the most fashionable in London, it was still respectable, and she loved her house with the fierce pride of someone who had worked hard for something she wanted. And more than anything Meredith had wanted a home. A real home. A respectable home.